Blame It On My Sister
by trenchcoatpie
Summary: When a phone call with his sister is ended by a stranger's voice, Bellamy drops everything to find Octavia and ensure her new life at college is safe/Clarke's dorm is under maintenance, so she's overjoyed when Octavia offers to stay at her boyfriend's house and let Clarke stay in her dorm until the work is done. M for future chapters.
1. Chapter 1

A/N:

I don't own anything "The 100" related or any other copyright stuff I might have put in here.

Sorry it's kind of a slow start, but the next chapter is up and has some more... interesting plot points. Please review! All feedback is welcome feedback.

Chapter 1

Clarke let her head fall into her hands as she let herself descend onto the edge of the bed. The leaning tower of homework on Octavia's desk taunted her silently, casting a shadow over the mess of her unfinished research paper. She shifted her head's weight into her right hand and dropped her left, checking the old watch clasped around her wrist. Her father's watch, thrust upon her to keep reminding her of how little time she had to do too many things. He'd given it to her the day she'd left for college, joking that since he'd no longer be around to make sure she finished her assignments on time, he'd have to settle for her promise to always keep the watch on her. There had been tears, sentimentality, hugging, promises and requests being made in record time. Clarke's mom hadn't been there. She'd been on call at the hospital, and had had to go in a half hour before Clarke's departure. Of course, she'd called that night, apologized, told Clarke all about the man whose intestines had literally been falling out in the emergency room, all of that nice old sentimental crap. That had been, what, six weeks ago? Seven? Time seemed different away from her parents. Away from her friends. Her life.

The incredible college adventure. So far, it sucked. She'd made only a few friends, and those she had only been able to spend time with twice a week, at most. Saturday nights were their "release" nights. That's what Octavia called them, anyhow. She called their mid-week excursions "break" nights. Like Clarke, she'd only been here for a little less than two months. Unlike Clarke, Octavia had entered college life like a storm, taking control of teachers and students alike. Everyone loved the small, dark-haired fireball. She was intimidation incarnate, with an innate kindness in her. The combination made her unstoppable, mainly because nobody had any motivation _to _stop her. And inexplicably, Octavia Blake had chosen Clarke Griffin, the quiet, efficient, lost girl, as her new best friend.

Monty and Jasper were Octavia's inseparable pair of followers. Lincoln was her tall, dark, and badass boyfriend. Murphy also hung out with the five of them, but after spending three minutes with the rebellious angst-ball that he was, Clarke had realized her dislike for the guy, and had spent much of her time recently with Octavia trying to figure out how Murphy fit into her group, and why she tolerated his crude comments and disgusting flirtation. However, with every club they hit up on their excursions, it was always the six of them, Murphy included.

Clarke's cell phone buzzed against the desk top, lighting up with an image of the selfie Octavia had taken for her contact picture. Clarke groaned. As much as she wished her father's watch had been wrong, her four hours of uninterrupted study time were over. She pushed herself up off the bed and reached for the buzzing offense.

"Hey, O."

The voice on the other end was plump with sarcasm.

"You sound like you got a lot done." Clarke groaned, sliding down to the floor.

"I have two thousand words written on my research, I have half my lab proposal thought out, and I have a full billion points toward my procrastination regret score."

"You're on the floor, aren't you." Octavia said. Clarke groaned in response. "Clarke. You're only in my dorm for two days while yours gets the ventilation fixed, and I _refuse_ to let you sully my space with your moping."

"Octavia, I still have another eight hours of work ahead of me, _if _I keep working for the next eight hours. Three of these assignments are due on Monday, and three more Tuesday, and-"

"Clarkey."

Clarke groaned again. With Octavia's ridiculous nickname inevitably came a night full of potentially regrettable partying. So far, only two nights had been really regrettable, when Clarke had made out with a moody sophomore named Finn, and when Clarke had let her guard down by Murphy just long enough for him to force a sloppy, awkward kiss on her face.

At that memory, Clarke groaned again.

"Not tonight, O."

Octavia made an indignant noise.

"Yes, tonight! Tonight of all nights, Clarke Griffin! Tonight or no night!"

"No, no, I need to finish my research, my lab-"

"Fine. Clarke. I'm at Lincoln's now, and he's making popcorn. After the movie, though, We're going to Lacie's."

Lacie's. The biggest, most hygienically safe club in town. The music they played wasn't crap, and they served food until two. Their drinks were strong and not outrageously expensive, and they were roomy. Like, really roomy. On any given night Lacie's would be crowded, but hitting it up tonight, on a Friday of all days, it would be raging. Clarke had been to Lacie's only three times, but those nights had been some of the most fun Clarke had ever known. Of course, Lacie's was high-up, so it was harder than other clubs to get into, especially underaged. They'd been good about having Lincoln buy the drinks each time they went, and hadn't hit any real obstacles as of yet.

Clarke's resistance faltered.

"Really?" she asked quietly. Octavia laughed.

"Fuck, yeah, really. My brother's in town, with he and Lincoln as our twenty-one-pluses, we'll all get in, no problem."

"You have a brother?" Clarke frowned, not recollecting any mention of another Blake.

"Yeah, his name's- Lincoln, no! No, please!" Octavia's voice disappeared into a fit of giggles. Lincoln's dark voice came over the line, then.

"Clarke, we'll see you later tonight, okay? Until then, though, allow me to tickle my girlfriend in privacy." Octavia argued that there would be "no more tickling, damn it" in the background, and Lincoln chuckled. "Bye, Clarke."

"Bye, Lincoln." Clarke sighed with a smile as the line went dead. Doubtless now Lincoln was tickling Octavia full-force, and she was in tears, begging through desperate laughter to just start the movie, with her usual seasoning of tasteful expletives thrown into the plea.

...

Bellamy stormed down the hallway, a man on a mission. Two days ago, he'd called his sister to check up, and the phone call had been ended after a deep male voice had instructed Bellamy that Octavia was "previously engaged" after which Bellamy had heard his sister let out a disgustingly seductive giggle before the line had gone dead. It had been two hours before she'd called her brother back, and another hour before she agreed to his visit.

After making a few calls and talking to a few of the right people, he'd managed to get his bartending job transferred to one of the clubs in town and still keep his recently attained raise. He'd found an apartment nearby and had spent the past day packing what little belongings he had into his flatbed and driving across two states to get to this town. He'd passed out when he'd arrived at his new home, but had woken hours ago fully rejuvenated and ready to bitch out his younger sister.

As orphans, Bellamy was used to the feeling of responsibility, was used to taking care of Octavia, but he'd thought that when she moved off to college, she might be able to take care of herself, maybe leave him to start looking for some other purpose in life.

He should have known better than to let her go. Now she was probably in her dorm, letting some lowlife college kid screw her brains out.

She didn't know he'd transferred jobs. She didn't know he'd gotten an apartment. She didn't know, but in moments, she would.

211, 213, 215, 217... The dorm numbers flicked by quickly as he passed them. It was strange, being in a college dorm and seeing it so painfully empty. His memories of college were those of bustling halls and overcrowded dorms and obnoxious music playing twenty-four-seven in one room or another, audible throughout the building. Of course, the college he'd gotten stuck with had been cheap, and full of more stoners and delinquents than he could count. He'd made sure Octavia got better. He'd filtered through her college acceptance letters and had spent hours poring over the benefits of each one. He'd found fault in all of them. Bad part of town. Too expensive. Classes too big. Dorms too small.

The fault of this college was its distance from himself. However, when Octavia heard this as his only complaint, she'd squealed and kissed his cheek and promised him, time and again, that she'd be fine. She'd be fine.

Why had he let her get her own dorm? He should have insisted she get one of the two-person rooms, should have ensured she get a roommate that was some kind of crazy, whip-wielding chastity freak. _Don't worry. These single dorms are safer, anyway, Bell. Plus, mine is 283, almost as far from the street entrance as you can get. So any burglars would have to walk half a mile in the building to get to it. _

Bellamy huffed, increasing his pace. He could just see her conniving smirk. _And my brother will have to walk half a mile to stop me from having irresponsible college sex!_

Fuck.

229, 231...


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: I don't own anything related to the 100 or any other copy-written things that might pop up.

WARNING: some adult content in this chapter. Still looking for a beta, if anyone's interested.

:)

Chapter 2

Clarke reached up to set the phone back of the desk top, yawning. The internal pressure of the due dates on her assignments still throbbed like an aching nausea in her stomach.

Octavia was right, though. Clarke needed to take her mind off of homework for a while. And she needed to start now, or she'd have due dates swimming behind her eyelids for the rest of the night.

She glanced at the door of Octavia's small, one-person dorm. Locked tight. Clarke missed the comfort of her own dorm, but Octavia was staying with Lincoln till Clarke could reclaim her own room, so she had O's little dorm to herself until tomorrow night.

It was barely six-thirty, too, and with all-freshman neighbors on a Friday night, Clarke could assume that there would be very few people in the dorms at this time. She knew her own room, just across the hall, would definitely be empty.

And she could be quiet... Occasionally.

Clarke breathed out as she slid back onto the bed, unbuttoning her jeans quickly. She was so tired of thinking about school. About how she'd be able to pay her next bill without calling on the monetary stability of her parents. About seeing Octavia with Lincoln, and Monty with Jasper, and feeling halfway guilty about letting herself and Murphy be fifth and sixth wheels instead of the third couple. About how repulsed she was by Murphy's presence. Ugh.

She tipped her head back and searched her mind for someone else to focus on. An imaginary aide in her forgetting exercise. Her fingers slid through her lower curls, slipping lower, as the image of a strong, tanned chest flickered into her mind. Her middle finger found her clit, and the chest gained arms, legs, a neck. The pad of her finger was soft against the warmth between her legs as it began to press into it with slow circles. Her other hand moved up to massage her breast through her shirt. She imagined it was a long-fingered, tan hand pressing against her shirt, sliding the fabric against her nipples.

She moaned, mentally creating a pair of lips at her neck, warm breath sending shivers down her spine. Lifting one leg up, bent at the knee, she slipped one finger into herself, moaning again. Imagined flesh stimulated her own as she added a finger to the slow, easy pumping of the first. Her mouth opened in an accentuated, groaning "oh."

...

281, 283. Bellamy stopped in front of the door. There was a high-pitched whistling sound coming from the room across the hall, the door wearing a "DO NOT ENTER: MAINTENANCE IN PROGRESS" sign over its number and peephole. He paused in front of Octavia's door for a moment to collect himself. No sock hung on the doorknob, so he could assume that, for now, at least, Octavia wasn't in any amount of scandal.

Raising his fist to calmly knock, he heard, from inside, one of the most sensual sounds ever to meet his ears. Long and low, half desperation and half intense pleasure, the moan sparked a reaction in Bellamy that he immediately stifled. That voice was not his sister's. Female, yes, but _not _Octavia's. It clearly wasn't that of the man who had ended Octavia's phone call, either. Questions popped into Bellamy's mind with lightning speed.

Was Octavia with a girl? Was she bisexual? Why hadn't he ever realized it? Was she ashamed? Was this even Octavia's room? He checked the number again, and again, and no, it just kept reading 283. Was Octavia's boyfriend in there with another girl? Oh, god. Were they having a threesome? In this tiny dorm?

Bellamy stood there, staring hard at the door, listening with panic as the voice inside grew in intensity, climbing higher, higher. His body was reacting to the ridiculously erotic sounds coming from within and he didn't like it. If he stayed here much longer, he'd have to find a way to hide the-

The voice inside 283 cried out in orgasm, and Bellamy stumbled back a step, realizing his need to find a bathroom until the excited bulge in his jeans disappeared. He saw the dimly lit bathroom sign and frowned. It was a communal shower. Shit. But anything right now was better than just standing here. He heard footsteps from inside approaching the door and fled.

...

Clarke rolled off the bed, panting but satisfied. Her imaginary man had done well by her, she thought happily. Even seeing the massive pile of responsibilities on Octavia's desk couldn't ruin her high. She looked at her watch. Twenty minutes since Octavia had called. That meant another hour at least until the rest pulled up outside and Jasper sent her the "get out here lets partayy" text.

Stretching, Clarke decided a shower would do her some serious good right now. She grabbed one of the towels Octavia had left so neatly folded in the corner and her shower bag and left the room. The communal bathroom was barely a ten second walk from Octavia's room, and Clarke was grateful for that. She was sweaty from her little stress-relief episode, and majorly disheveled from long hours of homework.

...

Dorm 283's door opened as Bellamy reached the bathroom, and he glanced back at the blonde girl locking it behind her. The bulge in his jeans increased its intensity when he realized that those intense noises had been coming from that beautiful girl. He entered the bathroom and ran his hands through his hair desperately. What the hell, Bellamy? He scolded himself. Getting turned on by standing outside a student's dorm and listening to her masturbate? Fuck. Oh, fuck!

The bathroom door creaked open, and Bellamy darted into an empty shower stall. Screw communal bathrooms, man. Screw. Them.

He pulled the curtain shut and waited.

...

She slipped into the bathroom, past the toilets, and into the shower hall. Only one of the curtains was pulled shut, but the shower wasn't running behind it. Clarke rolled her eyes. There were only a couple reasons people got into private shower stalls and didn't run the shower, and none of them were really acceptable for communal bathrooms. Honestly. That's why you have dorms, people. For privacy?

She coughed lightly to alert whoever was doing whatever behind the curtain of her presence, and hung her towel over an empty stall a good distance away from the suspicious not-shower-er.

...

He heard a cough, and internally punched himself for recognizing her voice. It was completely unacceptable, completely perverted to recognize a cough from the sounds of-

He steeled himself and stepped out of the shower stall, knowing absolutely nothing of what he intended to do or say.

He was just in time to see her blonde head disappear into a stall at the end of the row, and ten seconds later saw a shirt, bra, sweatpants, and panties layer themselves over the towel hanging over the top of the curtain rod. Shit.

Maybe he could benefit from a cold shower. No. He would definitely benefit from a cold shower. He stripped, mimicking the girl's actions and tossing his clothes over the curtain rod. He slipped his shoes out under the the curtain and turned on the water. Ice blasted him in the face.

"Shit!" he hissed, and heard a painfully adorable, poorly-stifled laugh from the stall at the end of the row. The cool water seemed to seep through his flesh and into his blood, and soon he felt as sober as ever.

He shut off the water and dried himself as best he could with his jacket, then dressed and emerged from the stall determined to find, and extensively bitch out, his baby sister.

When the blonde girl exited her stall at the same time, however, he ducked his head to hide the blush threatening his cheeks and moved to the sinks to splash his face with the icy water there.

The girl was suddenly at his side, then, and clad in only her towel, was opening her shower bag. He splashed his face again, stealing another glance at her.

Catching him looking, she frowned.

"Can I help you?"

"What? No. Sorry. Just... looking for my sister." he replied, tearing off a paper towel and hastily drying his face. He tossed it away and looked at her again. She was leaning over the sink, combing mascara into her eyelashes with precise care. She met his eye through the mirror and smiled, confusion pulling her eyebrows down.

"Well, I hope you find her." she remarked, and Bellamy nodded. He paused; he really needed to ask why she was in the dorm his sister had told him was hers. But if he asked, she'd know that he knew that she'd been in there... Bellamy's cheeks heated again.

"Dude, I'm in a towel, not naked, and I'm putting makeup on, not pole dancing. You can look without feeling guilty." She straightened and turned to face him, leaning against the counter. "Are you alright? I haven't seen you in this building before." She paused, "Are you lost?"

Bellamy recoiled at the pity that touched her voice. Lost? Hardly. Bellamy could be thrown into the middle of a desert and find his way. He raised his eyebrow, arms folding against his chest.

"Likely." He replied sarcastically, "No. No, just looking for-"

"Your sister. You already said that."

"Wow, Hospitality Princess, here." Bellamy joked.

"Hey, you're the creep staring at a girl in the bathroom."

Bellamy raised his hands in defeat, "I just... Someone else was in the room I thought was hers. She isn't answering my calls, either."

The girl nodded solemnly.

"Well, the RA is here till nine on Fridays, so you can head downstairs and ask them if they know where your sister's staying. Their room's right by the front door."

Bellamy was pleasantly surprised at the helpful kindness in her voice. Her eyes watched him intensely, and Bellamy, who rarely did so, broke eye contact first, his eyes finding the scuffed and worn tiles of the floor.

"Thanks." he responded. He turned to leave, and paused, the bathroom door propped halfway open, cool air sneaking inside. "What room number is the RA in?" The girl lowered her mascara and met his eye through the mirror reflection.

"No number on the door. It's to the left of room 103, though. 101, I guess?"

He nodded in confirmation. "Thanks again, Princess. Have a good night."

The girl smiled, "You too, creep."


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Sorry this chapter kind of seems like filler, but there'll be more action coming up, soon, I promise. A BIG thank you to LanieDawn, who's so generously offered to share her beta skills. Please review- I look forward to all of your feedback, and Ch4 should be on relatively soon.

Chapter 3

"You're absolutely sure Octavia Blake is registered in room 283?" Bellamy pinched the bridge of his nose. The wiry boy twisted his laptop computer around so that Bellamy could see it.

"Unless there's another Octavia Blake that goes here," he paused to make an expression to show how likely he thought _that _was, "yeah, she's registered in 283. Maybe you looked at 284? It's under maintenance right now, so there's nobody in it until tomorrow night at the earliest."

"No, no, okay? I went to room 283, and there was a girl in there."

The RA's eyes narrowed.

"Is your sister... not a girl?"

"Oh, for fuck's sake." Bellamy muttered as he raked his fingers through his hair. He was supposed to be at the club, getting set up already, not arguing with some nerd. "My sister has _black _hair. She has the same skin tone as _me_. The girl in _283_ has..."

Hair like the noonday sun? Sweet cream for skin and endless oceans for eyes? A voice so unforgettable that even the thought of it made Bellamy's chest pulse with heat?

"Nevermind. I need to go to work. I'll call her in the morning."

The nerd shrugged.

"Whatever, man. Hope you find your sister."

Bellamy grunted and left room 101. A flash of gold caught his eye, and he watched as the girl from O's room walked toward the exit, a cell phone pressed to her ear.

"...can't be expected to just jump out the window the second you pull up, Jasper. Oh, calm your tits or put Monty on! No, I'm heading out to the parking lot now, okay? I'll see you in a minute." She paused at the door, hung up her phone and shoved it into the purse hanging at her hip. When she reached forward to push the door open, she caught Bellamy's eye and did a double take. The girl smiled briefly at him in her moment of hesitation, hand pale against the dark wood of the door. And, just as abruptly, the door opened under that hand and the darkness outside stole her away.

...

Clarke climbed into Jasper's minivan, and the driver let out a droll cheer.

"A-a-and look who decided to show up!" he called into the cab. The tires squealed in time with the slamming of the sliding door as he sped away from the dorms. Octavia was draped across Lincoln's lap in the backseat, and Monty held his boyfriend's hand from the passenger seat, which probably put the passengers of the van at even more risk than Jasper's driving. Of course, this seating arrangement left Murphy in the bucket seat opposite Clarke.

"They're pairing up early tonight, Clarkey." He said. Clarke scowled at him.

"Don't call me that." She said, then twisted to face the cuddly couple, "O, does he really have to come?"

Octavia shrugged from the backseat.

"Lacie's is a big place, Clarke. No doubt Murphy'll find some lonely girl to hit on and get rejected by, and you won't even see him." The van's passengers laughed as Murphy leaned into the space between the seats.

"You feelin' like a lonely girl tonight, Clarke?" Clarke shifted into the door so that she could effectively kick Murphy back into his hemisphere of the vehicle. He fell back against his own door in a mirror of Clarke's posture. "Some cultures see violence as foreplay." He said.

Clarke rolled her eyes and gave Murphy the finger.

"Fuck off, Murphy." She told him, in case the sign language failed to penetrate his thick skull. He sneered.

"Maybe later, if you're lucky."

Ten more agonizing minutes in the van passed before they pulled into the Lacie's parking lot, and then Lincoln worked his magic yet again; with some persuasive, unheard words with the bulky doorman, the man waved them all in. Lincoln smiled slyly - as he always did after such victories. Clarke sighed as the layered, gracefully fluctuating colored lights inside enveloped her. The music was loud from the moment they walked in, but Clarke knew from experience that within a half hour their ears would attune to the volume, and they'd be able to have a non-screaming conversation pretty much anywhere except for the dance floor. There, the music was loud enough, and the speakers near enough, that the bass filled your body and commandeered your heartbeat to sputter in rhythm with the songs. She'd spent long hours on that dance floor every time she'd been here with Octavia and the the boys.

They found a C-shaped booth in the corner that was conveniently empty every time they came here, probably because of the fact that it was poorly lit, and the way the music slightly echoed between the walls. Clarke didn't mind the echo; it reminded her of the fun they'd had here- nights of laughter and loud, shameless conversation. The poor lighting irritated her, though, and not only because of the way it inhibited her sight; it was the way that the others assumed it made her blind. Hands crept wherever they pleased in the dimness, and tongues snaked out at necks during kisses poorly disguised as whispers. Both Clarke and Murphy were forced to sit awkwardly during these little pair-up moments, and more often than not, Murphy would try to imitate them, which inevitably resulted in some sort of verbal, or physical, argument between he and Clarke that would have to be broken up in a relatively violent manner by Octavia or Lincoln, which wasn't so bad, because it was always Murphy who suffered the violence. Clarke would then receive a look from Octavia that said, "I'm sorry he's my friend," or "I'm sorry he's a pervert," or "God fucking dammit, Clarke, I'm sorry he's such an asshole," and all would be well in Clarke's mind, until she felt those slimy fingers begin to explore hostile territory yet again.

She waited until the others slid in, and sat opposite Murphy, both of them occupying the tips of the "C," while the couples slid into the "C"s body. Octavia said something gushy about Lincoln being a hero, and bam. Public makeout session. Clarke rolled her eyes and listened to Monty, who was raving about the new robotics project he was developing, and how, once he got the money for the parts, he'd be able to set up a prototype and make millions off of it. Jasper was listening avidly, his eyes twitching down to his boyfriend's mouth every few seconds, revealing his interest not only in the technology of Monty's conversation, but the lips producing it. Murphy gave an accentuated yawn, and Clarke kicked him under the table.

No, she didn't understand all the tech talk spewing from Monty's mouth, but she wasn't going to stop him talking about something he was passionate about around people he trusted.

Monty, however, didn't seem to notice the kick, and kept on without missing a beat. The kick had, unfortunately, revealed to Murphy the closeness of his legs to Clarke's, and soon she felt a boot rubbing against her ankle, then her knee, and she jerked back into the back of the booth.

"What the fuck, Murphy! Back the hell off!"

Monty went quiet, and Murphy held up his hands.

"My bad. Guess your mixed signals are just getting to me."

Octavia, having removed her mouth from Lincoln, reached across the table to smack Murphy across the back of the head and gave Clarke the "Look of Apology." Somehow, it didn't do it's usual job of healing the wounds of Murphy's pervertedness, and Clarke was left still irritated as Jasper asked a subtle question to get his boyfriend to keep talking.

Before Monty could answer, Clarke stood.

"I'm gonna go get a drink from the bar." she told the group. Octavia leaned forward, a look of unsure worry on her face.

"Lincoln ordered a round for us, they should be here soon." She offered, but Clarke shook her head.

"I'll just be a minute." she said, turning her back on them.

"Hurry back, sweetcheeks." Murphy threw out as she walked away. Clarke made a pointed decision to work very hard at accomplishing the opposite.

...

Bellamy wiped sweat off of his forehead and tossed his towel back over his shoulder. Back home, the Lacie's club had been far smaller, with a need for only three or four bartenders on any given night. Here, the club seemed like the lower half of a mall, and the bar stretched almost along one whole wall. He'd counted at least ten bartenders, and hadn't had a moment's peace since he'd arrived. The manager had bitched him out for being late, for transferring with such short notice, for this and that and the kitchen sink. Due to the sheer variety of topics covered in the bitching out, Bellamy realized the potency kind of wore off, and he had little guilt for his only real crime of tardiness.

To top it off, almost none of the customers needed to talk. It was kind of an unspoken code among Lacie's bartenders that when a customer chats you up, you chat them up. The bartenders' friendly willingness to talk had contributed to making Lacie's into the popular chain it was, but tonight, apparently nobody needed to unload their troubles or flirtations onto Bellamy's shoulders. He'd spotted a particularly somber-looking girl earlier, but she'd been swept in on by the kind-faced blonde man working just down the bar from Bellamy, and they'd been in some heartfelt conversation now for a half hour, leaving Bellamy to pick up both he and the man's customers.

A very drunken man slammed into the bar directly in front of Bellamy, then, splashing a cupful of perfectly good beer all over the bar and the front of Bellamy's shirt. He paused, closing his eyes for a moment, calming himself before opening them and asking the man if he was alright.

"...dun-no fer the... bitches an' hoes, y'know, though? Amirite? I think I'm... a puke."

"Oh, shit." Bellamy said, hopping the bar and taking the man by the shoulders, propelling him toward the bathroom, where a young bald man was rapping on the door.

"Finn! Finn, are you in there? Come on, man, you know you're drunk, we should just head out." Bellamy tapped his shoulder.

"Excuse me, this guy's gonna retch." He said to the bald man, who took one look at the green-faced guy and grinned.

"Finn! God, thanks, man. I've been looking everywhere for him." He took Puke Man, slinging one of the man's arms around his neck and thanking Bellamy again. They disappeared into the crowd, and Bellamy headed back to the bar. He used the conventional way to get back behind, and saw that the blonde man had resumed his duties. The sad girl was nowhere to be seen.

"Sorry, man. The guy was gonna retch." Bellamy offered.

The blonde man rolled his eyes in a friendly way, and gestured to the beer-soaked bar.

"That's your territory, _man_." Blondie said, and Bellamy exaggerated his own eye-roll. Snagging a wet rag from the sink, he began scrubbing at the pool of alcohol. It smelled like someone had mixed some fruity flavor into the beer, the combination of scents almost enough to cause nausea in Bellamy's own stomach. It was no wonder the guy'd been so close to vomiting.

"Do you guys have any wine back there?" A familiar voice intoned, and Bellamy jumped slightly, muscles stiffening as he looked up to meet the eye none other than his previously towel-clad angel.


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: Thank you so much to everybody who's been reading and reviewing! And an especially big thank you to LanieDawn for being an awesome beta.

-I don't own anything.-

Enjoy! :)

Chapter 4

Clarke hadn't been entirely motivated to look her best tonight. So, instead of the sparkly, butt-hugging dress Octavia had bought her for such occasions, Clarke had dressed herself in a loose, shimmery top so long that it almost hid her tattered jean shorts and a pair of simple, comfortable flats with only minimal scuff marks on the toes.

When she recognized the bartender as her very own bathroom creep, Clarke found a frown battling a smile on her face. The brief look of surprise, followed by a narrow-eyed smile revealed his own recognition of her.

Carefully joking, Clarke lowered her eyebrows at the man, "Are you stalking me?"

The bathroom creep smiled at her with a scoff, joking, "Please." Clarke shrugged, enjoying the way his "bitch please" face caused a charming dimple to appear in his chin.

"I work here," he explained, then paused, "If you really want to know, I just transferred from another Lacie's. I moved to town yesterday, actually. Wanted to be closer to my-"

"Sister. Got it." she paused, "Why do you need to find her, anyway? Just because of that phone call?"

With a sigh, the guy dropped his pungent rag into the half-absorbed puddle on the bar and rubbed at the back of his neck.

"It's a long story." He answered after a moment's silence, and Clarke lifted herself onto the bar stool.

"Then grab me a glass of wine and get talking." She told him, and was pleased to learn that his cockeyed smile also revealed his chin-dimple.

"Well, I was worried about her already when she decided to go to a college so far away from home." He started, placing a large glass before Clarke, filled halfway to the top with a deep red wine. It smelled expensive, and, sipping it, she found it tasted expensive, too.

"Were your parents worried that she was moving away?"

The guy rubbed at the back of his neck.

"I guess I need to go farther back to explain." he paused for a moment, expression thoughtful. "Okay," he decided, "when I was little, I didn't really have a dad around, and when my sister was born, things went from hard to harder. Our mom pretty much told me that she was mine to raise. My sister, my responsibility.

"Mom, meanwhile, did everything she could to keep food on the table and clothes on our backs, but... She did too much. She did the wrong things. Her money-making methods ended up getting her killed a while ago. All of a sudden it was just me and this teenage girl, orphaned and basically broke, and things got harder again.

"I took on a lot of work and did my best to squeeze in some classes between shifts. It sucked, but when I got fired from the car dealership I'd been working at, everything started looking up."

Frowning, Clarke leaned forward, "It started looking up when you got _fired_?" she asked. That dimple reappeared on his chin with another smile.

"Yeah, it sounds weird, I know. But after I got fired there, I got a job at the Lacie's in town. After a couple months, I'd made it to a managerial position, and I was actually thinking about buying the place, but it was close to my sister's graduation, so I decided to save up the money for college." He laughed, "Management is a bitch, but I was making enough, and her grades were good enough that she could pretty much have her pick of the crop in the way of colleges.

"When she found a place that was essentially perfect for her, but so far away from home, I couldn't think of a logical way to say, 'No.' So she left. I called her every week, and she'd been sounding happy, and she'd been sounding safe, and then a guy cut her off when she was talking to me a couple days ago, and... I think I was just waiting for a reason, any reason, to come find her. It sounds so stupid, now."

Clarke grabbed his hand across the bar.

"Hey, shut up. It's not stupid. You've spent your whole life protecting her. It's only natural you'd want to keep her safe." The bartender's look was skeptical, and Clarke rolled her eyes, "Okay. It's a weak reason to run charging away from home on a wild rampage, and I'm not saying I _agree _with you, I'm just saying that I get it."

"You think I'm the crazy, overprotective big brother." he laughed. Clarke sipped at her wine, realizing briefly that she'd forgotten about it completely while the bartender had been speaking.

"No," she replied, "I am wondering how you were able to go from management in one Lacie's to bartender in another in just a couple days, though."

He licked his bottom lip thoughtfully.

"Two days ago, Sister-napper ended our call, and I flipped out, made some calls, and somehow convinced the big wigs to let me transfer here. I got cut to bartender, but I've got an assistant management position at the burger place down the street. Lacie's owns them, too. So I've got that during the day, tending at night, and all the time in between for sister-stalking."

"Glad to know I'm not the only one being stalked." Clarke smiled, "So when do you sleep, if you're working days and nights?"

He shrugged, "Neither job is seven a week, so I've actually got quite a bit of stalking time. I managed to snag a nice little apartment near here, too, dirt-cheap and not bad quality. Well, not great quality, either, but, you know. With both jobs, I think I'll be able to keep up with her college fees and my apartment, and maybe I can even eat on weekends."

"You've got jobs and housing. Just got to find your sister and you'll have the makings for a good life in this city."

The bartender nodded, then frowned.

"Wait. Are you here alone?"

Clarke nodded before shaking her head, "Well, I mean, I did come here alone, but I've made a few friends from some classes." The bartender's mouth curled into a grin.

"No, I mean, are you _here_ alone? The club?"

Clarke's face heated as she shook her head, laughing. "No, no. I came with some friends. But, they like to get... intimate. It usually takes about a half hour for them to actually be any fun. I just wanted to get away to wait them out."

The bartender gestured grandly, "Well, you're welcome to wait here, where we specialize in spilled beer, good wine, and long, mopey sob stories."

Clarke laughed, "Oh, come on, creep. Your story was hardly mopey." The bartender grinned again, but just as he started to speak he was cut off by a familiar, irritating voice.

"Sweetcheeks, the lovebirds have flown the nest, and they are asking for you on the dance floor." Murphy cast a judgmental look at the bartender before he turned back to Clarke, "Guess you _are _a lonely girl tonight."

"Screw off, Murphy." Clarke said, and offered an apologetic look at her bathroom creep. "I'm sorry. I guess my awkward dancing is wanted on the floor. I'll be sure to find you next time I need to wait them out," she paused, "I mean, if that's alright. You might not be working, but I guess I'll... Thanks, anyway." She sighed, and the bartender licked at his bottom lip, smiling despite her awkward embarrassment.

"Anytime, Princess." he told her, and Clarke smiled despite herself, locked onto the bartender's black-brown eyes. Murphy made an unattractive noise in his throat, then, and the spell was broken. Clarke found herself being dragged away from the rich wine and entrancing dimple and into the ear-wrecking noise of the dance floor.

...

Bellamy watched her shake off the grabby hands of the weirdo as she walked away. Was he her boyfriend? If so, that relationship was a strange one. Brother, maybe? But their similarities basically ended at species. Maybe he was just a friend, but the way his hands had tried to wrap around the girl's waist preached otherwise.

Bellamy frowned, and found himself obtrusively distracted for the rest of his shift. Hours passed in which he dealt with three drunks, two overly flirtatious women trying to get free drinks, four complaints about some guy grabbing people on the dance floor... _And a partridge in a pear tree. _He thought bitterly, wiping at his forehead.

Someone was running the air conditioning on low, probably to save money, but it made the employees miserable in the process. Bellamy had always made sure that his Lacie's had been at a tolerable temperature at all times. When he was manager of this one, he vowed, he'd ensure that again.

At the end of his shift, he wandered close to the dance floor on his way out, hoping to see the towel princess. It was ridiculous, he knew, but he found that despite himself, he liked her, and not only because he'd seen her almost-naked and been bewitched by her voice both in conversation and in pleasure. There was something in her eyes, something unnameable, something that made it hard to look away. He wanted to see it again.

Instead of blonde hair, however, a dark head spinning among the pulsing bodies caught his eye.

"Octavia!" He yelled over the chaos, but his voice was lost in the music. Pushing into the writhing mass of bodies, he called her name again.

When he found her arm under his hand, a massive tension flowed out of his chest, and he pulled her into a hug.

"Bellamy! What are you doing here!" she had to yell the question twice before he heard it.

"I came to find you!" with excess improvisational sign-language, he managed to communicate through the noise.

It took five repetitions before Bellamy understood Octavia's reply, "Too loud! Talk tomorrow! I'll call you in the morning!"

He made her promise, stomach roiling. He wanted nothing more than to toss his sister over his shoulder and drag her away to talk properly. However, he knew Octavia, and he knew that if he did force her to talk she'd shut up tighter than a clam. As much as he hated it, he'd have to wait for her call in the morning.

He made a mental note to ask how she'd gotten into the club despite being underage. Octavia was resourceful, Bellamy knew. At times, too resourceful. He decided to leave her for the night, though. She was glistening with sweat, and in her eyes was that terrifying glimmer threatening rebellion, and Bellamy resolved to scold her after she'd satisfied her partying urges instead of trying to stop a train already speeding down the tracks.

He grabbed his coat on his way to the exit and froze by the coatrack. A blonde head was just disappearing out into the night. Bellamy swallowed. Was it horribly weird to go after her? Ask for her number? Damn it, it probably was.

But she'd been okay with listening to his whining about Octavia, maybe she'd be okay with a little more weird. He pushed open the door and plunged out into the night after her.


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: So, nothing M here, just some very mild violence and also very mild lovey times. Thanks to LanieDawn for her Beta skills. I don't own anything. :)

Chapter 5

When Murphy's hand started sliding around her waist on the way to the dance floor, Clarke was able to muster very little restraint in her response, shoving him away.

"Murphy, I don't care if you're drunk, if you're O's friend, if you're the goddamn president. If you touch me again, you'll regret it."

Holding up his hands in mock defeat, he nodded.

"Whatever you say, sweet-"

"And cut it with the nickname. It's disgusting." She swallowed, the taste of red wine fading from her mouth. She wished she was still at the bar, listening to the dark voiced bartender. Clarke sighed. Were it Murphy who had talked to her in the dorm bathroom, or showed up and given her wine at the club, she would be certain that her life was in danger. But there was something about the way the bartender had looked at her, as if he'd been trying to lose himself in her eyes, and in the process, enveloping her in his own.

She found Octavia in the center of the floor, moving her body in ways that should either be impossible or illegal, or both. Clarke saw Lincoln simultaneously enjoying his girlfriend's show and watching the crowd around her protectively. If anyone tried to make a move on her, he'd be there in a second. Less, maybe.

Jasper and Monty were nowhere to be found, until a half hour later when they showed up, drunk halfway to heaven. The music pounded too loud for conversation, but Clarke thought she caught the word "shots" somewhere in Jasper's greeting.

With so little alcohol in her and so much in her friends, Clarke found herself keeping them out of trouble instead of joining in. The night of insane fun she'd anticipated seemed to drag on without ever becoming what it was supposed to be. She couldn't find the right rhythm in the music, couldn't find the right movements for her body. Her mind kept returning to the bar.

When Jasper and Monty disappeared a second time, Clarke went after them, remembering the "experiments" they'd run last time in the boys' bathroom. Where they'd been able to find the ingredients for such a pungent stink bomb was beyond Clarke, and they'd very nearly been caught. If they tried something like that again...

Clarke found them at the bar, though, very determinedly drinking themselves into oblivion. Jasper spun around when he caught sight of her in the mirror, his face a pale shade of green-pink. She had her cell phone out before she reached them, dialing the city's only cab company still functional after one in the morning.

"Here she is, I said, speak of the _devil_!" Monty laughed. Jasper glanced at him, then grinned at Clarke.

"I think I might puke soon." he said, giggling, "I think I really might."

Clarke let them ramble at her as she arranged for the cab. She texted Lincoln, informing him of the situation.

He texted back a simple "OK," and Clarke sighed. She knew Octavia might be a bit irked if she left now, but Clarke couldn't find her bartender anywhere at the bar, and decided to walk back to the dorm. Octavia had a spare key for the van, and Lincoln very rarely drank, so Clarke was confident that they'd be fine getting home.

She retrieved her coat and purse from the "C" booth and left the club.

The night seemed infinitely cold and empty compared to the hot, crowded noise of Lacie's. Clarke's ears rang for a minute, adjusting to the near-silence hanging loosely in the air. A motorcycle revved somewhere down the street, breaking the spell of stillness and setting Clarke in motion.

It was a half-hour's walk to the dorm, which, Clarke admitted, wasn't horrible. Or, at least, wouldn't be horrible once she got used to the cold.

"Hey, sweetheart!" A voice called as she passed by an alleyway, and Clarke's stomach turned to ice. She squinted into the darkness, increasing her stride length. A scrawny, bald man zipped up his jeans as he approached her. "Where are you off to in such a hurry?"

Clarke swore internally. She'd been here for months, and hadn't suffered so much as a catcall on the street, and now this? She wasn't even carrying pepper spray. Keys. Anything, damn it.

She stared straight ahead, pushing her legs forward, faster.

"Hey, come on, now!" the guy whined, and Clarke heard his footsteps quicken. He was running. Clarke stopped and turned to face him, which seemed to shock him momentarily, but he continued toward her, mouth curling into a rancid smile. Clarke noted the two missing teeth in his lower jaw and decided to make it three if he tried anything.

Five feet away, he slowed, shoulders drawing back in a primal show of dominance.

"That's more like it. You come outta the club?"

Clarke's mind raced. She could probably outrun this guy; he looked pretty drunk. But he was pretty close now, too. He opened his mouth, moving forward again, and Clarke impulsively charged him, gripping both of his shoulders as she rammed her knee up between his legs.

A shocked 'ungk' spilled out of his open mouth as his torso caved away from her. She pushed his shoulders harshly, unable to think of what the proper next move could be. The guy stumbled back, cursing and clutching his groin.

"Hey!"

Clarke recognized the voice of the bartender as he came jogging toward her and the drunk from the direction of the bar. The drunk looked back at the bartender and cursed again, hobbling his way back into the alley he'd appeared from.

"What was that? Are you okay?" Clarke's bathroom creep asked, brow creased with concern. Clarke swallowed unsteadily.

"He's running away, isn't he?" She turned away from staring at the blank darkness of the alley to find the bartender smiling incredulously. "What?"

"I'm just a bit surprised how calm you are. Do you have experience with scaring off pigs like that?"

"I've never had to do it before." Clarke realized. The bartender approached her, brows drawn.

"You're pretty pale, do you need a ride home?" he paused, "Wow, that's creepy, isn't it. I can call you a cab, though." Clarke found herself wishing she wanted to agree, to tell him it wasn't creepy, to make a joke about kicking his ass, too, if he tried to kidnap her. She felt nauseous, though, claustrophobic despite being outdoors. The thought of climbing into a vehicle right then sounded abhorrent.

"Actually, I think walking would be best for me right now." Clarke replied. The guy nodded with a smile.

"Okay."

"You wouldn't mind... walking with me, by chance?" Clarke flushed, "I mean, I can take care of myself, but-"

"I'd be happy to." he smiled, and Clarke felt that his words were genuine. Her stomach reacted with a gentle flutter at the way the weak streetlamps bounced off the freckles spattering his cheeks.

"It's a while away," Clarke told him as they started down the street, "probably a half hour's walk, I don't know if you have to get to bed, if you work early, if you need to do some stalking-"

"No, no." he assured her, "Actually, I found my sister. Tonight, at the club."

"No way! That's great!" she noted his half-hearted nod, "Not great?"

He shrugged, tugging on his jacket absently, "She kind of blew me off."

"What?"

"I saw her on the dance floor -you know how hard it is to talk there- but instead of going somewhere else, she just said, 'Call you tomorrow' and went back to her groupies. Which there were a lot of, surprisingly." he paused, "She's never been that popular before. Sure, she's always wanted to get out, see the world, escape the confines of our life, but I guess it still shocked me that..."

"That what?"

"She'd want to stay with them instead of me. It just seems so... weird. I don't know." Clarke touched his arm.

"Again, I get it. But maybe she needs a little time to be crazy, to be with them and not you, to realize that she doesn't have to make it 'either-or.' I mean, come on, man. You make it sound like if she chose them tonight, she'll never talk to you again. And that's stupid." He shrugged, and Clarke slapped at his arm to get his attention, "It's stupid. Okay? She's your _sister_, for Pete's sake. You've been there for her her whole life. Nobody can just forget something like that. She said she'd call, right?"

"Yeah, but what good is a call if it might just get cut off again by another one of her new freak friends? I just wish I could take her home, get back the way it used to be. We used to talk- every day. Now it's once a week? Less? She used to trust me! I used to trust her..."

"Dude. She's what? Eighteen? Nineteen? It's okay to be a little rebellious. Natural, even. Just talk to her tomorrow. You'll see she still loves you, trusts you. She-" Clarke's phone chimed in her purse, cutting off her next sentence. "Crap. I sent a couple friends home dead drunk, it might be them checking in. Do you mind?"

"No, it's fine."

_C, clear your schedule for today. my brother showed up a day early? bought some time but idk how to tell him abt lincoln. Call me as soon as you wake up. xo O_

"Trouble?" the bartender asked as she stuffed her phone back into her purse. She shook her head, stuffing her phone back into her purse.

"Not really. I'm going to need a lot of coffee to deal with tomorrow, though." She smiled at him, "You will, too, I suppose."

"I'll need more than coffee to get through dealing with my sister." he agreed with a laugh.

They continued on in silence for a while, until the dark height of the dorms rose up around a street corner.

"Hardly half an hour." the bartender told her, glancing down the street as they crossed toward the building. A group of freshmen was shouting and laughing in the park adjacent to their destination. Clarke thought she saw a pair of girls on bicycles pedaling around a ring of drunken boys and sighed. She might have been one of them if she hadn't made the friends she had in her first week here. She smiled. Clarke was far happier with her occasional partying and frequent pizza nights at Lincoln's than she could imagine being if she were drunk on a bike.

She paused at the dorm entrance and turned to the bartender.

"Thanks for walking with me, even if it wasn't half an hour." she found him smiling.

"Anytime, Princess."

She felt a smile spread her own mouth and stepped back, pressing her heel against the step of the entranceway.

"So... see you, I guess." she said, swallowing nervously. She didn't know what to say, wanting to ask his name, his number, his... "Thanks. Again." she began to turn away.

"Wait."

Clarke faced him again, hoping for him to give her a reason, any reason, to see him again without relying on coincidence. He paused before speaking, licking his lips.

"Nothing." he said after a moment, "You have..." Clarke felt a tingle in her fingertips when his eyes twitched down, "a piece of glitter, on your lip." He paused, then, and his eyes dropped down again.

Minutely leaning forward, his hand lifted, thumb brushing against Clarke's bottom lip. Clarke's breath ceased for a moment as her eyes unwillingly hooded. His thumb felt rough, but brushed against the soft skin of her lip with impossibly gentle care. His hand lingered on her chin, tipping it up toward him as he lowered his head to hers.

"_ALPHA-BETA-KAPPA!" _

The wildly drunk freshman, bicycle teetering chaotically between her legs, sped past, nearly slamming into Clarke and the bartender, who reacted instantly, pushing Clarke out of the way. She stumbled back as he fell forward, both tripping over the single step of the entranceway. The bartender caught himself before hitting her, landing with his legs halfway tangled in hers and his hands braced on the cement on either side of Clarke's head.

_Damn it. _She thought. In an instant, the perfect kissing moment had been ruined by some freak. The bartender immediately started to remove himself from atop Clarke's body, apologizing.

"Sorry, sorry, I should have seen-"

Clarke lost all hesitation when he began to draw away, and, reaching up, curled her fingers into the collar of his shirt on either side of his neck. She pulled him down, effectively crashing his mouth onto hers.

After an initial moment of surprised stiffness, the bartender melted into the kiss, cocking his head with a small smile when Clarke's tongue flicked out at his lips. When he pulled away, an involuntary squeak of disappointment left Clarke's throat. Her eyes opened to find him smiling down at her, and she sighed slightly.

"We don't even have sororities here." she laughed, then paused, frowning. "Shit." she told him, "I don't even know your name."

He mirrored her frown, "I don't know yours."

Disentangling themselves from each other to sit on the step, Clarke extended her hand, a blush creeping up her neck and into her cheeks.

"I'm Clarke."

"Clarke." he smiled thoughtfully, taking her hand and shaking it, indulging Clarke's poor attempt at casual introductions, "My name's Bellamy."

Hands still clasped, Clarke grinned.

"Want to get coffee sometime, Bellamy?"

Bellamy's eyes twitched down to her mouth again, a flicker of an instant, "Absolutely, Princess."


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

Despite the miniscule amount of alcohol she'd ingested the previous night, Clarke woke to a pounding in her skull equal to any hangover she could recall. She moaned, rolling out of Octavia's bed and stumbling to the desk. She knew Octavia kept Aspirin in the third drawer down on the left, but wasn't sure if her friend had brought them with her in her temporary move.

The jar rattled cheerfully as Clarke opened its drawer, though, and she hastily retracted three of the humble little pills, popping them into her mouth and swallowing them dry. One caught in her throat, inducing a coughing fit that resulted in a terrible tasting, half-dissolved pill in her cheek and a desperate lust for water.

Leaving the door unlocked, Clarke moved out into the hall, ignoring the other dark-eyed freshmen stumbling around. She bent over the water fountain, wincing at the coppery taste it spewed into her mouth but drinking it down for a long moment despite the taste. The work being done, hopefully being _finished_, in her room, was the reason that the entire building's water tasted like sucking on pennies. The completion of the maintenance was anticipated for more reasons than just being able to sleep in her own bed again.

Clarke found three texts waiting for her upon her return to Octavia's room, and flopped into the desk chair.

_CLARKE, WAKE UP. i need you today. play interference so my brother doesn't kill me when he finds out i've been staying w lincoln. xo O_

That had been sent an hour ago, at six in the morning. How Octavia managed to stay out so late and still wake up kicking with energy was beyond Clarke. Half an hour later, Octavia had texted again.

_Okay. I just talked to him on the phone for barely a minute. he sounded okay. calm? ish. Idk. please wake up. he's meeting me at Carrie's at 9 for coffee and i NEED you to be there. _

And, just three minutes ago, a last text.

_Picking you up at 8:30 sound good? PLEASE SAY YES. xo O_

Clarke sighed, pushing her hair out of her face and texting back a simple, "Yes." It gave her a good hour or so to wake up and find something to put in her stomach. She cast a regretful glance at the bed, probably still warm. Her mouth still tasted of Aspirin and pennies, and there was a knot in her shoulder from sleeping in some strange position, and she had a feeling that the rest of the day wouldn't turn out very different from how it had begun. She was painfully tempted to stay inside, tell Octavia 'no,' tell _everyone _'no.'

She sighed and mentally slapped herself.

_Come on, Clarke. _she thought, recalling the last time a day had started out this poorly. _If you had stayed in bed then, you never would have met Octavia. _

She smiled momentarily at the memory. It had been her fifth day here, the second day of classes, and her first day in her arts class.

...

_It was the first day in art class. They'd stuck her in the entry-level Art reserved for freshman, and she was furious at the college's refusal of her request to be placed in a higher-level class. Determined to prove her capability to the teacher on her first day, she'd gathered together a portfolio of her favorite works. The bulky, worn folder chafed under her arm as she hurried up the lengthy staircase to the fourth floor of the building, trying to resist the urge to stop and stare at the paintings, the sculptures, the framed sketches, the sheer multitude of artwork dangling and sitting along the hallways. She'd only been in the Science building yesterday, and they'd been similarly decorated, but instead of artwork, awards and charts and facts and models clung to the hallways. _

_Clarke painfully walked by a student-creation, wishing she could stop and wonder at the way they'd perfectly layered acrylic paints over an intricate charcoal drawing. When she burst into the classroom only a minute before she would have been marked late, she found the rest of her classmates already seated. _

_The room was massive, with a whole half of it devoted to storage space for drying work, two kilns, and shelves and shelves and shelves of supplies. Clarke's stomach flipped as she took in the beauty of it. _

_The professor, a fairly old woman in a smock, cleared her throat. _

"_Name, dear?" _

_Clarke's attention focused, and she smiled nervously. _

"_Sorry. Clarke Griffin? Ma'am." _

_The other freshmen snickered at her flustered state. _

"_Clarke, you'll learn that it's best to be here ten minutes ahead of the posted start time if you want to succeed in this course." _

"_Yes, ma'am. Sorry, ma'am." _

"_Well, you've already missed most of the introductions, but I suppose you'll catch up quickly. You do have to know me, though." she approached Clarke and pushed out a delicate, stained hand. Clarke shook it, suprised by the firmness in the other woman's grip. "Vera Kane. Call me whatever you like, but know that I prefer Vera. What would you like to be called?" _

"_Um, Clarke. Clarke is fine." _

"_Thank you, Clarke. I'm afraid you've missed the opportunity to choose your seat, and we've put you in between Octavia and Raven. I hope you don't mind." _

"_No, thank you." Clarke ducked her head and took the only empty stool at the counter where two dark-haired girls were watching her amusedly. _

_Vera flew into a long lecture about her course's goals and a few of the first projects they'd be starting, and Clarke found herself mildly shocked to realize she was actually looking forward to most of it._

_However, when Vera produced a multitude of primary color paint bottles, Clarke suppressed a groan. She'd anticipated a syllabus day, a lecture day. The first day of art class is _always _a lecture day. So she'd worn a lacy, comfortable blouse. A white blouse. _

_Vera, mid-speech, gave Clarke the look a professional gives to the rookie after the rookie makes a mistake, and dropped the bottles on the table. _Don't spill, _that look warned. Clarke swallowed nervously. The assignment was laughably easy, though, just produce an array of colors from the primaries and label them according to their placement on a color wheel. _

_ Clarke finished her assignment quickly, the whole time carefully keeping the paint away from her blouse and an ear on Vera, who was continuing her lecture as the class worked. A knock on the door interrupted her, and Vera scoffed. _

_ "Someone tell them to come back later, please." she said, and continued speaking. When nobody else moved, Clarke pushed away from the counter and walked to the door. _

_ "Is there a class here right now? Or can I talk to Vera?" the man looked middle-aged, with the same sharply pronounced nose as Vera. _

_ "She says to come back later." Clarke told him apologetically, and he scowled. _

_ "Thank you. Tell her Marcus came by." he said, turning away before Clarke could agree. _

_ Closing the door, Clarke turned back into the room and straight into one of the dark-haired girls from her table. The girl's palette flipped out of her hands, perfectly spraying Clarke's top with pale colors. Clarke paused, shocked, staring at the girl incredulously. The girl looked equally surprised by the mishap, and began stuttering an apology._

_Surveying the damage, Clark found that the paint had splattered her shirt and smeared just so that it almost looked intentional. Artistic. Her body now reminded her of the painting she'd seen in the hall, and she began to laugh. _

"_Oh, dear." Vera muttered from the front of the room. "Octavia, if you could get Clarke some wet rags." _

_The girl nodded, rushing to the sink and pulling a stained, hole-peppered rag, dripping with icy water. She thrust it at Clarke, face flushed. _

_Clarke wiped at her eyes before accepting the tattered cloth with a smile._

"_Thank you." She said, and the girl, Octavia, had Vera said? Octavia gave a small cough before throwing her arms around Clarke and hugging her tightly. Clarke, shocked, held the cold rag in one hand, the doorknob still enclosed in her other. Octavia pulled away, grinning. Her shirt, a slim little black thing, now bore a mirror-image of Clarke's paint splatters. _

"_Oh, crap." Clarke said, and, realizing her mistake, Octavia looked down at herself. Clarke's laughter returned in full, this time partnered with Octavia's. At seeing that the disaster had caused no ill feelings, the rest of the class dissolved into quiet shakes of relieved giggles. Vera clapped her hands together loudly, bringing focus back to herself. _

"_Octavia, Clarke, go get washed up. Our time's nearly up, anyway. Stop back for your things and a written copy of the syllabus after, and I'll see you on Thursday. Everyone else, please take your projects to the back of the room and lay them in alphabetical order by your last names in the space for your class..." _

_Clarke and Octavia hurried down the hall and into the bathroom, where they stood in their bras, scrubbing furiously at their ruined clothes in the sinks. _

"_I'm really sorry about this." Octavia told Clarke, lifting her black top and revealing the lack of success the soap was having on removing the stains. Clarke lifted her own. The paint had spread under the running water, and very little of the top was still white. However, it now had a sort of tie-dyed look to it, pale reds and pinks slurring into greens and blues. Like a drunken patch of flowers had stumbled into a cloud and been completely absorbed. _

"_At least it's pretty." Clarke joked, casting Octavia's shirt a wince. Where Clarke's disaster had become a blossoming cloud, Octavia's looked more like a blossoming bruise._

"_Blegh. I'll have to toss it." _

"_Sorry about that." _

_Octavia laughed. "It was my own stupid fault! Real smart, O, hug the chick you just doused in paint! But I expected you to freak out, heh." she paused, "Hey, I'll make it up to you. Want to go shopping after class? It's my last one of the day." _

_Clarke swallowed, smiling slightly. She'd been here five days without so much as making a single friend. _

"_Sure. I don't know any of the stores around here." _

_Octavia let out a long, frustrated moan._

"_Me, neither! I know who does, though. Best-dressed boy in this place. Ooh, then we can wear our new stuff out tonight! My boyfriend, well, sort-of-boyfriend, is getting us into the only good club in town."_

_Clarke stared at the other girl for a moment. _

"_Are you sure? I feel like I'd be intruding." _

_Octavia splashed a handful of warm water at Clarke with a grin. _

"_You kidding? You laughed when I ruined your shirt, you must be _some_ kind of fun." _

_Clarke didn't see the logic behind Octavia's argument, but agreed regardless. Five days alone was five more than she was used to. She'd take whatever friendship Octavia offered. _

_Of course, she hadn't been expecting the motley crew of brooding pervert, hulky security guard, and the quirky couple who always smelled suspiciously of burnt plants, but they accepted her on that first night, and she hadn't let them go since. _

...

Clarke's phone buzzed as she was tying her hair up into a ponytail. The message waiting for her read simply,

_Outside when you're ready. xo O _

With a sigh, she tossed a last glance at the bathroom mirror and grabbed her purse. That fifth day here had started out just as bad as any, but had ended with Clarke's finding a group of better friends than she could have asked for. Maybe today wouldn't be so bad, after all.


	7. Chapter 7

A/N: this one's a bit short, but a longer chapter will be coming on Tuesday. I just had this done ahead of time and was too impatient to wait to post it on the day I'd planned to.

I own nothing, and love reviews- suggestions/questions/comments, all of 'em. :)

Chapter 7

Octavia smiled as Clarke climbed into the passenger seat of the little, roughed-up car. She'd bought it cheap, but had had it repainted a stunning, glossy cherry-red, and the effect always reminded Clarke of an old woman wearing a leather jacket and some very bright lipstick.

Octavia chattered lightly on the way to Carrie's, rambling on about how Lincoln had just gotten a raise through the security company, so he'd be able to afford his med school tuition far easier than he'd been of late. She informed Clarke that Monty was throwing a party later that night, a celebration of his new concoction of moonshine.

She parked the shiny old jewel outside the front door of Carrie's- the ideal parking spot.

"He should be here soon. You have to keep the topic off of Lincoln, okay?" Octavia told Clarke as they entered Carrie's. The atmosphere was light in here; a wall full of windows and ample lighting from both in and outside. Gentle music hummed from the speakers, and the smell of sweetened pastries and coffee filled the air.

"Why can't you just tell him about Lincoln?"

"I can. I will. Just... slowly. Dropping news on my brother has always been a bad idea. I should have been easing him into it since Lincoln and I first went out."

"Why didn't you?"

"I think I thought that if I told him, he'd do just this; he'd come down here and hunt Lincoln down, force him to break up with me."

Clarke gave her friend an incredulous look, "Lincoln could hold his own against a mob for you. Does your brother own a mob?" Octavia's expression lightened minutely.

"I could see him being a mobster. Of course, he'd probably be that guy in the background keeping track of money and guns and who owed who what and what laws were-" she stopped, "Clarke, you're perfect. Just bring up mobs if he starts asking about Lincoln."

Clarke laughed, shaking her head at her friend, "Octavia, he's your brother. You have the same blood running in your veins. How horrible can he be?"

Octavia's bitchface held the power of a thousand suns.

"You don't have an older brother, do you, Clarke?"

Clarke shrugged, playing with the strap of her purse.

"Only Wells. But he's not my real brother. We were just kind of raised together."

"Come on. From what you've told me, Wells is hardly your _older_ brother. More like the twin who was born first."

"Yeah, I suppose." Clarke checked her phone, "Hey, it's almost time, so I'm gonna run to the bathroom quick before he gets here." She rose, and Octavia slumped back in her chair.

"Hurry back."

...

Bellamy shut off his car, squinting out the windshield at the overly-cheerful rainbow of a sign. _Carrie's Coffeehouse and Diner_.

Not the usual place he'd expect Octavia to schedule a get-together. He sighed, opening the door and standing. His neck was stiff and he'd bruised his shin last night in the bicycle incident. He'd woken in a sour mood, muscles itching to move and feeling exhausted at the same time. He felt restless. Dissatisfied. It physically pained him to wait so long to ask Octavia about this new possessive "friend," but he knew that pressuring an answer out of her would lead nowhere. Not to mention that he was running late and hadn't had an opportunity to get anywhere near a bathroom in his rush to meet his sister.

The delicate bells on the door jingled cheerfully as he pushed on the curving metal doorknob. Inside, he walked into a cloud of coffee grounds and powdered sugar hanging invisibly in the air and filling his nostrils and lungs with vigor. His stomach growled appreciatively at the smell.

"Bell! Hey." Octavia was seated at a table just around a privacy island with decorative shapes dancing across the top in colored glass- doughnuts with smiles, blushing cupcakes, laughing lattes. What was it with coffee shops and giving foods faces?

Bellamy smiled, hurrying toward Octavia.

"Hey, kid. I've missed you." he told her, kissing the top of her head, "I'm going to the bathroom, and then we can catch up, okay?" Octavia's eyes rolled as she agreed with a smile only mostly genuine. Bellamy detected a tension in her expression that unsettled him. His bladder proved stronger than his concern, though, and he left her.

...

Clarke checked the mirror again, pushing back a stubborn strand of hair that refused to stay in her ponytail. She gave up after a moment, though. Octavia's brother, if he was anything like O, wouldn't care if she was a bit disheveled on their first meeting.

What _would _Octavia's brother be like? Octavia had barely mentioned her family in the time Clarke had known her, and, Clarke realized, she'd never wondered about her friend's familial history. She could just as easily imagine Octavia as an only child as she could imagine her having a dozen siblings.

She sighed, wrinkling her nose and turning away from the mirror to the door. Clarke knew that there was no such mystery about her own family. If she went a week without mentioning her parents or the Jahas, pigs might fly.

Clarke pushed the bathroom door open and stopped in her tracks.

"Bellamy." she smiled. He let the men's room door swing shut behind him, expression mirroring her own in a surprised smile.

"Clarke." He breathed, and stepped closer to her, pulling her into an impromptu kiss. Quickly recovering from her instant of initial surprise, Clarke gladly accepted kissed him back, shocked at how much she enjoyed the solid sensation of his hand on her lower back, his other on her neck. Clarke's arms lifted to his own, fingers wondering what it would feel like to bury themselves in his hair. She was startled at how strongly her body was reacting to his touch. A nearly overwhelming bliss warmed her down to her core at the touch of his tongue. Bellamy pulled away, then, to Clarke's disappointment. He smiled again.

"Sorry. Needed a little encouragement, I think."

Clarke raised her eyebrows, taking a sobering breath as she was thrown back into reality.

"Anytime." she breathed, "I take it your sister's here, then?"

"Yeah. Why're you here?" He asked, running a hand through his hair. Clarke's fingertips tingled jealously.

"For a friend. The one who texted me last night. I should get back out to her, actually. Find me when you're done with your sister?" She watched his expression carefully, but he didn't seem the least bit put off by her request.

"Absolutely. Good luck with your friend."

"Same with your sister." she replied, and involuntarily glanced at his mouth as he licked his lip, a seemingly unconscious action, but painfully attractive at the same time. He must have seen her look, and leaned in for one more kiss, quick and chaste, before he turned back to the cafe with her.

Bellamy walked beside her, and Clarke wondered for a moment if he was walking her back to her table. Was that chivalrous? Weird? Clarke wasn't sure.

Octavia looked up from her phone as they approached, and Clarke opened her mouth to introduce Bellamy to her friend.

"Hey! I hope you don't mind, Bell. I invited my friend to hang with us today." Clarke turned to Bellamy with the same expression of confusion that he was giving her.

"Oh, right," Octavia laughed, "Clarke, this is my brother, Bellamy. Bell, this is Clarke Griffin, best-friend-at-college."

"Oh." Clarke replied dully, "Oh. I mean, nice to meet you, Bellamy." _Brother of my best friend. Who I was just kissing in the bathroom alcove. _She extended her hand awkwardly.

_Shit_.


	8. Chapter 8

A/N: A bit of a longer chapter, but there's really no other way for it. I hope you enjoy, and please review! I love hearing from you. :)

Chapter 8

"Likewise, P-" _Princess, _Bellamy almost said, feeling an uncomfortable wave of deja vu. He coughed shortly, "Clarke. Octavia hasn't really talked about her college friends much, it's _great _to finally meet one of them."

Clarke smiled, her neck and cheeks flushed. Bellamy released her hand, hoping Octavia didn't notice the way Clarke and himself had spontaneously and simultaneously turned pink.

_Shit_.

"Well, are we going to get coffee sometime today?" Clarke joked, and Bellamy coughed again.

_Want to get coffee sometime, Bellamy? _

"Oh, don't worry about it. I ordered already for all of us. You're both so predictable." Octavia laughed. Clarke forced a laugh through her lips as Octavia continued on, informing Bellamy of how each one of her classes was going, what her teachers names were, other useless information. A barista brought out a tray of coffee cups somewhere between class schedules and irritating professors. Even Clarke looked a bit annoyed at his sister's endless prattle.

"Who was that on the phone?" Bellamy asked, cutting off a list of art supplies Octavia had been instructed to buy. Octavia fell silent.

"Just a, uh, friend. Nothing to worry about, Bell. Did I tell you about the history program they've got here?"

"A 'friend' told me to call back later, so that he could, what was it? Have you to himself? Because you were "previously engaged"? God, O, if that's the kind of guy you're hanging around, I-"

Octavia squeaked as her coffee suddenly sprayed across the table. Bellamy sighed, wiping a drop off his cheek. Leave it to his little sister to throw coffee on him to get him to shut up about a boyfriend problem.

"I'll get napkins." Octavia muttered, rising and rushing off to the counter. Bellamy turned to Clarke, sighing, and found her already watching him. Silence settled in Octavia's absence.

"I guess I could've been more help in finding her." Clarke laughed nervously after a moment. Bellamy sighed, a hesitant smile touching his own lips.

"Is it standard procedure now, to shake hands after kissing?"

Clarke laughed fully, then, and Bellamy felt a small tension ease from his shoulders.

"I know the guy who cut off your phone call." Clarke told him suddenly, "He isn't a bad guy." Bellamy ran a hand through his hair, halfway frustrated with himself, partially with his sister.

"It isn't I think he's a bad guy. Just that he's bad for Octavia."

Silence hung between them for a moment.

"So, why were you showering at the college?" Clarke asked after a moment.

Damn it.

_I needed to cool off after hearing you... _"The, uh, water wasn't working in my my apartment yet."

"Ah. Well, careful. They're pretty anal about non-students using the college resources." She paused, "I'm gonna see what's taking O so long."

She rose and went after his sister, leaving Bellamy alone with his chaotic thoughts. How had he managed to end up in this situation? The echo of Clarke's lips on his mouth while her best friend, his _sister, _kept secrets from him while confiding in Clarke? What was he doing? Should he cut it off with Clarke? What would he even be cutting off?

_Fuck_. What was it about her that affected him so strongly? He'd opened up his soul to her at Lacie's last night, just poured out his history for her, and she'd taken it in stride. And then he'd watched her send a perverted drunk scuttling into the shadows despite being a good half-foot smaller than the freak. He'd walked with her through the dark streets and found her company as comfortable as anyone he'd known for years. What was the time he'd known her, when added together? An hour? Two? Was it possible to forge a connection so quickly?

He really shouldn't be surprised that Octavia had chosen Clarke for her best friend. His sister probably had as little power in the face of Clarke's charm as himself. Maybe Clarke was just some sort of Blake magnet, drawing in the siblings without any knowledge of her power.

He took a long drink of his coffee. He'd have to figure out what to do when it came time to do it, he decided.

Just like when he'd come out of the bathroom. His first instinct when he saw her was to kiss her? _What the hell, Bellamy?_ He scolded internally. But she hadn't seemed to mind it. He licked his lips absently and set his cup down.

Clarke was a college student- he knew that. But being Octavia's friend? Damn it, he should have put two and two together when it was her who came out of O's room. But- Did that mean that Clarke was a freshman? The school year had only started about a month ago. How old would that make her? Eighteen? Nineteen, maybe. Chances were good that she wasn't much older than his sister.

He found his fingers rubbing at his temple, his head suddenly the host of a throbbing concern. Five years. That wasn't too much of an age gap, was it?

Was it?

_Damn it, Bellamy. _

Who knew moving here would bring up more problems than it solved?

...

Clarke sidled up to Octavia, finding her friend shifting napkins around in her hands absently. The barista behind the counter looked uncomfortable, unsure if Octavia was in need of help or not. Clarke gave him a reassuring smile and touched Octavia's arm gently.

"Hey. He knows you aren't staying at the dorm."

Octavia's eyebrows flew up.

"What? How? Did you tell him?"

Clarke shook her head, "No, he-" _and I met yesterday in the bathroom, a few hours before we made out on the front stoop, _"-said he looked for you yesterday, but you weren't there." She swallowed.

"You were there, though. You didn't see him?"

"It, uh, must have been after we left for Lacie's. Maybe." Shit. Why was she lying to Octavia? Surely Octavia wouldn't be _that _mad that Clarke and Bellamy had met and hit it off. Who knows, she might even be happy. Clarke swallowed the groan in her throat.

"Are you okay? You look sick. Did Bell say something to you? I swear, he's usually not rude or mean-"

"No!" Clarke burst, and coughed into her fist, "No, no. He's being great." she coughed again. "Good. Polite. He's a good- brother." she sighed, "I think he's just worried about you. You should just tell him about Lincoln. I'm sure he'll understand."

Octavia laughed humorlessly, "Please. He's scared away every boy who's even looked at me since I was thirteen. If he knew I had a boyfriend, an _older _boyfriend, an older boyfriend I've been _living with _for the past couple days... Damn." She swallowed, "He might just kill us both. He'd probably force me to go home with him."

Clarke frowned. Sure, she hadn't known Bellamy all that long, but that forcing his sister to leave town because of a mildly-possessive boyfriend? It didn't sound like something Bellamy would do.

"I really think you just need to talk it out with him." Clarke said. Had Bellamy told her that he'd moved to town?

Clarke sighed, exasperated. Neither of them had told the other that they'd changed their living arrangements, she realized. "Let's get back, he probably thinks we ditched."

"Maybe we _should_ ditch."

"O..."

Octavia gave Clarke a helpless look, one Clarke never thought she'd see on her friend's face. What was so intimidating about Bellamy that Octavia, the strongest person Clarke knew, could look so helpless in his presence.

When they returned to the table, they found Bellamy with his eyes shut tight and two fingers rubbing circles against his temple.

"Bell? Are you sick?" Octavia asked, and Clarke recognized the sound of a concerned sibling in her voice. Whatever problems Octavia had with her brother, she loved him. That much was clear.

"No, no, I'm fine. Are you ready to tell me about your freak friend, or are we going to waste another cup of coffee?"

Octavia huffed with childlike impatience, "Bellamy, we can talk about that later."

"_Octavia." _Bellamy said with a tone like thin ice, "I dropped everything. I moved here. I'm going to be here for you, now, whether you like it or not. If there's something-"

"You _moved here_?" Octavia burst. Clarke repressed the instinctual _shh _that leaped to her lips in response to the shrillness in Octavia's voice.

"Yes. It's been us against the world ever since Mom died, and I didn't work my ass off protecting you just to abandon you now!"

"Oh, yeah, pull the Mom card, _that's_ mature. It was _years_ ago, Bell. Get over it. I have."

Bellamy's expression went from angry concern to hurt shock in an instant. Octavia seemed to realize that she'd struck too hard and grabbed her purse.

"I have to go." she said, tone flippant but voice thick, "I promised Monty I'd try his new recipe before tonight." She stood and looked at Clarke, "You coming?"

"Hm? No, I'm going to get a water and hit the library first. You go ahead. I'll see you later."

"Alright." Octavia said. She gave Clarke a look of apology and then was gone, the door's bells jingling in bright emphasis of her departure.

"Well," Clarke sighed, leaning back in her chair, "Not exactly how I thought today would go."

"You're telling me." Bellamy laughed bitterly. Clarke had seen Octavia laugh that same bitter laugh a hundred times. How had she not recognized him? She chuckled quietly.

"What is it? No family drama for you?" Bellamy asked, but Clarke could see a glimmer of humor in his eyes.

"No, it's just... You're so much alike. I should have known the moment I saw you that you were her brother. Now that I know... It couldn't have been anyone else."

Bellamy's expression softened, then he leaned forward, curious.

"Who's Monty?"

Clarke swallowed. _Our illegal moonshine provider and party planner extraordinaire._

"A classmate. We hang out a lot, I guess." She could see the gears turning in Bellamy's mind, and quickly added, "His boyfriend, Jasper, is head of the Botany organization here."

"And Monty… bakes?"

"No," Clarke replied, shifting in her seat, "he…" How would Bellamy react to finding out his sister had a free, steady supply of alcohol a phone call away? Was Bellamy using Clarke? How far would he go to protect Octavia? Clarke realized that she believed that this man would do anything for his sister. After all, he'd given up so much already.

She sighed. If Bellamy wanted to make a spy out of her, she didn't think she could refuse the dark eyes and quirked smile. And she sure as hell wouldn't lie to _both _of the Blake siblings. She already felt a cold stone of guilt in her gut for not revealing their brief, heated history to Octavia the moment she realized they were siblings. No. The lying stopped here.

"He makes his own moonshine, flavors it with this and that, and he's having a party tonight to celebrate his new recipe."

Bellamy didn't stand up and scream _what!?, _rushing off to save his baby sister from the evils of the world, as Clarke half-expected him to do. Instead, he blew out a long breath and leaned back in his chair, pursing his lips thoughtfully.

"Well," he said after a moment, "since coffee was a bit of a disaster, how about some moonshine?"

Clarke could have sworn that the glimmer of mischief in his eyes was the exact same one Octavia got when she had some evil scheme or other. Clarke gave a shaky laugh, unsure if she was unsettled by the familiar sparkle of excitement or excited by it herself.

"Octavia won't freak out?" she asked, and Bellamy shrugged slightly.

"She might. But if she's old enough to sneak into clubs and taste-test moonshine, she's old enough to do it with me. Besides, it might be easier to meet all of her friends if they're drunk when I tell them that I'll make them suffer if they hurt her."

"Oh, believe me, L-" _Lincoln would kill anyone if they hurt Octavia, _"-literally nobody would ever want to hurt Octavia. Everybody loves her." No more lies _didn't_ mean Clarke was ready to try explaining Octavia's love life to her brother; that was between brother and sister.

Bellamy smiled, "Sounds like her. That girl can raise hell and still have all the world think she's an angel for it." he shook his head, "Are you okay with helping me sister-stalk? I don't want to cause anything between you two."

Clarke breathed a sigh of relief. _Not using me. Not using me._ "I'll help you, but you have to promise to be patient. Okay?"

"Of course. I mean, I owe you for last night, patiently listening while I whined."

At the mention of the previous night, Clarke's mind didn't fly to the bar. She involuntarily glanced at Bellamy's mouth again, and that infuriating tingle resumed in her fingertips. She swallowed, grabbing her purse.

"Come by the dorms at nine, then. I'll show you how to get to Monty's then."

Bellamy frowned, confusion flickering over his features as she stood.

"Sure," he said, "I'll see you then."

"See you." Clarke said, and made her escape.

It was laughable. _Come on, Clarke. _She thought. _Now that he knows who you are, he'll drop any trace of pursuing a relationship. _

After all, he obviously cared deeply about Octavia. He'd said so himself that he would hurt anyone who hurt her. Would she be hurt if Clarke and Bellamy got together? Clarke tried to imagine the situation from Octavia's perspective. If Wells and Octavia had met, hit it off…

Clarke laughed aloud to herself, kicking at the sidewalk as she made her way toward the library. Wells and Octavia? That was grounds for a sitcom. Clarke knew that she'd feel weird about the pairing, possibly uncomfortable, but she loved them both too much to be able to deny them a relationship. It wouldn't change her relationship with either of them, would it? But then, Wells wasn't Clarke's brother. She'd even thought of dating him a few times, but they'd been too close, somehow, to ever really risk it. She imagined it would be different if she'd had an actual brother, someone as fiercely protective as Bellamy.

The only person who cared that deeply for Clarke was her father. The automatic mental pairing of Octavia and her father made Clarke eager to stop thinking about the topic entirely.

She would see how Bellamy acted tonight, and would mind very little if she was almost smashed by a bicycle again, if her bartender-bathroom-creep was there to sweep her off her feet again. And if no bicycle came, if Bellamy backed off?

Clarke chewed her lip.

She'd been single a long time. She was doing fine on her own. She had no desire for anything romance-related until that creep showed up in her bathroom. She could go back to not wanting that, couldn't she?

If she closed her eyes she could still feel his hands, his lips, his breath. The way he'd just enveloped her on sight in the shop, the way he'd molded against her on the stoop, the way his eyes glinted in light and simmered in shadows, the way his tongue flicked out at those random instances, licking his lips so distractingly.

Clarke took a deep breath. It might be harder than she thought, just switching back to _not_ having that desire. She squared her shoulders as she came up on the library's entranceway.

She would do whatever had to be done to keep from hurting Octavia. If that meant switching back, so be it. What would happen would happen. And whatever happened, she'd have Monty's newest concoction to deal with it.


End file.
